Not a Day Goes By
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Oneshot, Tim-centered tragedy (with a ray of hope at the end). Tim, Tony friendship. A major loss is not something that can be forgotten. Can it be accepted?


**A/N:** Because I know that this is a subject that can be painful, I'm giving a warning on this. It deals with the death of a child, right after birth. I wrote this oneshot in self-defense because I don't want the idea to infect other stories. I was listening to "Gone Too Soon" by Daughtry and I got the idea. Music is the inspiration for probably at least a third of my stories and when I get an idea in my head, I have to do something about it. So this one is to get the idea out. I didn't want to write a long story. It skips over a lot of stuff, and maybe I should have stopped before the little tag at the end, but I don't care. I believe that there's always hope and I have to incorporate that.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS, its characters or the lyrics by Daughtry.

* * *

**Not a Day Goes By  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

_Not a day goes by that I don't think of you  
__I'm always asking why this crazy world had to lose  
__Such a ray of light we never knew  
__Gone too soon, yeah  
__~ "Gone Too Soon", Daughtry_

"Where's McGee?" Tony asked as he walked to his desk. He hadn't managed to beat Tim to work one day in the last year, and seeing his desk empty was strange...and more than a little concerning.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"It's been a year, Tony," he said.

Tony swallowed and looked at the desk again.

"He's not coming?"

"Nope."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The words were without meaning, but what he saw meant everything._

_Tim watched as the medical staff whisked his child out of the delivery room, fighting to make that little body breathe, to make that tiny heart beat. He couldn't move away from Delilah who was still exhausted from the delivery._

"_Tim, what's going on? What's happening?"_

_He couldn't speak._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony worked like usual, but he couldn't stop looking over at the empty desk. Certainly, Tim had been different in the last year, but even at that, he'd had more good days than bad days lately.

Hadn't he?

"Did he seem different yesterday?" Ellie asked.

"Not really," Tony said.

"Have you talked to Delilah?"

"No."

"Do you think they're together? Maybe they went to be with family or something."

"No."

"Why not?"

"That's not what McGee does."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_They got to hold him. They'd cleaned him up and let them hold their perfect little boy. They sobbed together as they tried to take in the reality that had led to this perfect child. This small, utterly still child. _

_They didn't want to let him go. Instead of celebrating their family getting larger, it felt like the word family had no meaning anymore. The family had shattered._

_Finally, though, it was time to say good-bye._

"_We have to let him go," Tim said, speaking through his tears._

"_I can't," Delilah said. "I can't, Tim. I can't lose him."_

"_He's... He's already lost," Tim said. "He's gone. Let him go, Delilah."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Finally, Tony couldn't take it any longer. Halfway through the afternoon, he walked over to Gibbs' desk.

"I'm going to go find him."

"He wants to be alone, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"No, he doesn't. He never does, even when he thinks he does."

"He might not agree."

"Doesn't mean he's right. I'm going."

"You know where he is?"

"No, but there are places I can try."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow but said nothing against Tony's plan. Tony turned and walked toward the elevator.

"Try the cemetery," Gibbs said from behind him.

Tony turned back.

"You think?"

"Yeah."

Tony held Gibbs' gaze for a moment and knew that, while Gibbs might be able to identify better with what Tim could be going through, he wasn't going to be the one to be there. Not today. He'd been there other times, but not today.

"Okay."

He left the building, got into his car and drove toward a cemetery north of D.C.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The hardest part was dismantling the nursery. Everything had been ready. Lots of blue decorations even though Tim had thought that was a bit excessive. Taking the crib apart had been an all-morning affair because he had to stop more than once when he couldn't bear to remove another screw and had sat on the floor and cried. _

_There were a lot of things he'd had to do because Delilah couldn't. Taking down the pictures. Boxing up the baby clothes and giving them to a charity so at least someone could use them._

_Every part of it was like losing their son anew. Every moment was an intense stab of pain that he couldn't bear. _

_He did, but he couldn't. He just bore it anyway._

_What else could he do?_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony had called Delilah to ask her if, by chance, Tim was home. If what he knew was miraculously wrong, if maybe Tim had decided to reach out for help instead of hiding it all inside. Maybe he would be home.

He wasn't.

They had both struggled, but Tony knew that Tim had tried to be fine simply because he couldn't see any other option. The problem was that, in his desire to be fine, he had put an emotional wall between himself and everyone else. Tony didn't know how far that wall extended, but he could hear the worry in Delilah's voice. The grief that she was still trying to deal with herself was compounded by her worry.

And yet, Tim wasn't there with her.

Because he was trying to be fine.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The graveside service had been very small, very simple. Just a moment when they were finally lowering that tiny box into the ground. His heart had broken again. It was so small._

_It was holding his son._

_His son, who was smaller than the simplest headstone, was being buried in the ground. Dead before he had even had a chance to live._

_His son was dead._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony reached the cemetery and drove in, slowly heading toward the only other car currently in view.

There was a bench near the headstone.

And one man sitting on that bench.

Tony parked his car, took a deep breath and then got out and walked over. He sat down by Tim and looked at him.

Tim was just sitting there, staring at the headstone. Tony looked at it. He hadn't been at the graveside service. Tim hadn't wanted anyone there but family, and Tony hadn't ever come to see it. But he saw it now.

_Logan E McGee_

_March 1, 2017_

_March 1, 2017_

"We hadn't actually decided on a name, you know," Tim said suddenly. "But we didn't want to have the headstone with just _Baby McGee_ on it. Logan was one of the names we'd thought about, so we just picked that. We thought it might help."

"Did it?"

"No."

There was another silence.

"He'd be a year old today. We'd have got him a cake with a candle. We'd have taken pictures of him, smearing cake everywhere," Tim said and laughed a little. "He'd probably be walking, maybe even saying a few words. That's pretty normal for a one-year-old, I think."

"I wouldn't know," Tony said.

"Me, neither. But that's what the websites say."

Tony looked at Tim, and he was just staring at the grave.

"I think of him every day. He didn't even cry, you know. It was so quiet in the delivery room. I don't know what he would have sounded like. Never got a chance to see if he would have taken after me or after Delilah. I had all these plans for what we would have done together. I knew that it wouldn't be perfect. ...but I had thought that I'd at least have the chance to experience it."

"Tim."

"I wouldn't have cared if he was famous or anything. I would have just wanted him to do something with his life that he could be proud of, something that would have made him happy."

"Tim."

"Every day, I wake up and remember that I'm not a father. Sometimes, I can forget about it. Sometimes, I can ignore it. ...until I walk by the extra bedroom. I even painted over the blue walls. They're just white. And yet, it doesn't matter. It's still...the nursery."

"Tim."

Tim just kept talking, not looking away from the grave, not crying, not anything...except talking. Saying the words but it was like he was reading it from a script or something. Somehow, it was worse to hear that monotone than it would be to see Tim sobbing.

"He's gone. He was gone from the first moment. The death certificate has almost the same time as the birth certificate. I would have done anything to keep him alive. I would have died myself and taken his place. I would have done it if it meant he got to live, Tony. Every day, I wish he was still alive. I wish I had my son. I keep asking why he had to die, why he was taken from us like this. There's just no answer. Nothing can change the way it is. Nothing can make this grave go away. Nothing."

"Tim, you should be with Delilah," Tony said when Tim finally stopped talking. "She's hurting, too."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't help her if I'm still falling apart," Tim said, still in that monotone. "I'll just make it worse. I had to take him from her and give him to the nurse. She was sobbing and begging me not to, but I did. I took our dead son from her and sent him away. Then, I went home and got rid of all the baby stuff. Then, I buried our son. And today, I can't pretend to be strong enough to bear it. I just need to get through today and then I can pretend again."

"You don't have to pretend, Tim. If you're with Delilah, you can help each other."

Tim shook his head.

"Yes. What good will it do you to cut everyone off? You're both grieving. You both know how it feels. You don't have to be alone."

"Every day..." Tim whispered, finally speaking in something other than a monotone. "It's like each morning is the first morning. How can Delilah move on if I'm not?"

"How can _you_ move on if you're not letting anyone help you?"

Tony squeezed Tim's shoulder, hoping that there would be _something_ that would break through this wall.

"Tim... It's not your fault he died."

"I wish I could have done something."

"You couldn't."

"His eyes were never open."

"It's not your fault."

"They would have been blue. They always are. I wonder if they would have changed to brown like Delilah's or if they would have been lighter like mine."

"It's okay, Tim."

Finally, _finally_, Tim looked away from the grave. He looked at Tony and Tony could see the absolute devastation that he had hidden every day at work.

"I lost my son, Tony," Tim said.

Then, he closed his eyes and started to cry. Tony put his arm around Tim's shoulders and held him as he grieved.

Tim cried for a long time, not saying another word as he did. Tony just sat there and hoped that this would help in the long run. He wanted to get Tim to go home, but if he needed to cry first, that was fine.

After a while, Tim took a deep breath and sat up straight again.

"You need to go home and be with your wife, Tim. You need to be together if you're going to get through this. You can't do it alone...because you both lost your son."

Tim said nothing. Tony tried again.

"You love Delilah, right?"

Tim just nodded.

"Then, you've got to know that she wants you with her. She needs you. And she needs you to really be there, not just to sit there and pretend. Stop pretending, Tim!"

"I have to."

"No, you don't. In fact, not only do you not have to, you shouldn't. Don't pretend to be okay if you're not okay. Don't pretend that you're over it if you're not. Talk about it if you need to. I know we're not always the best people at that kind of stuff, but we'd be there for you if you needed us to be. We really would...even if Ducky is the only one of us who would actually be helpful."

Tim smiled a little at that.

"It's his first birthday," Tim said, looking back at the grave.

"Then, go home and get through the rest of the day with Delilah," Tony said.

Tim took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. Then, he stood up and walked over to the grave. Carefully, he wiped some dust off the top of it. Then, he turned around.

"Go home, Tim," Tony said again.

Tim nodded and walked back to his car. He got in and drove out of the cemetery.

And Tony followed him home. When they got there, Tim got out and then looked back to where Tony was watching him. He walked over to the car and Tony rolled down the window.

"Thanks," Tim said.

"Anytime. Really."

Tim nodded and then walked into the house. Tony could see through the front window and he saw Tim lean over and hug Delilah. It was clear that they were both crying.

It was a start. One step forward.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two years later..._

"Well?" Tony asked.

Tim smiled and took a breath. It had been really stressful the last few months, but it was better. Much better. Anxious but better.

"James and Danielle."

"That's old-fashioned."

"Yep," Tim said. "Delilah insisted."

"How are they doing?"

"Small but perfect," Tim said.

There was a flash of sadness that was subsumed beneath the happiness.

"One day at a time," Tony said, having caught the moment.

Tim nodded.

Another day.

He still remembered every day, but now, it was more than just grief.

Rays of light brightening the darkness.

FINIS!


End file.
